As the inquiry continued, Flash became aware of how fast time was slipping away. He was annoyed at Captain Johns’ slow but thorough way of conducting the investigation, and he was disgusted because the army man refused to believe that Rascomb was an impostor.
“Rascomb had a finger in the Major’s disappearance,” he thought grimly. “But no one ever will believe it. I may as well save my breath.”
Knowing that Doyle would be expecting him, he decided to await the Captain’s pleasure no longer. Without bothering to explain that he was leaving, he went to join the News-Vue technician.
“Where’ve you been, Flash?” Doyle greeted him impatiently. “I’ve kept the car waiting fifteen minutes.”
“I was having a talk with Rascomb.”
“I saw him myself in the lobby. Flash you’re dead wrong about—”
“Let’s not say anything more about Rascomb tonight or later,” Flash broke in wearily. “I’m willing to forget him.”
“Then let’s move,” said Doyle, picking up his suitcase. “This is a swell hotel! Not even a boy to carry your luggage!”
“Everyone is in Major Hartgrove’s room.”
“What’s going on there?”